


if our demons cannot dance (then neither can we)

by themetgayla



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual!Arthur, Bisexual!Gwen, Boss/Employee Relationship, Disordered Eating, F/F, Fluff, Gwen is a soft baby, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian!Morgana, Lesbian!Morgause, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Morgana and Arthur are fully brother and sister, Morgana would die for her, Self-Harm, Soft!Merlin, Uther is dead lol, arthur is a bit of a dick, but merlin sorts him out, gay!merlin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-07-29 11:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20081539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themetgayla/pseuds/themetgayla
Summary: Morgana can’t seem to keep an assistant to save her life — she’s fired three in a month, and Arthur is sick of it. Struggling with her mental health, Morgana finds it hard to deal with their harsh fights, and often resorts to old coping mechanisms to soothe herself. But when Guinevere Smith comes for an interview, she’s hired on the spot, and Morgana finds herself falling for her,hard.





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> idk how many chapters i’ll write of this — i guess it depends on whether people want more but... yeah it popped into my head and wouldn’t leave so you’re welcome
> 
> **tw for self harm and mentioned homophobia**

Morgana sighs heavily and stares angrily at the retreating back of her now ex assistant. It’s the third she’s fired in a month, and she knows everyone is beginning to get frustrated with a new face showing up every week or so, just as another leaves. She can’t help it though; they all seem to be bordering on useless, and she needs someone who actually knows what they’re doing.

If she’s honest, she’s getting rather tired of interviewing hopeful after hopeful, only to hire the one who irritates her the least at the end of it. She doesn’t even know why she hired Elena in the first place. She’s a clumsy idiot who couldn’t even remember Morgana’s schedule — that’s the _ point _of an assistant.

Her brother’s tired of it too. They’ve co-owned Pendragon Publishing ever since their father died.

(_Thank god _, Morgana thinks in the privacy of her flat. No one needs to know that the first thing she did after receiving the phone call was release a long breath of relief. It had felt as though a huge weight lifted off her shoulders.

Morgana’s relationship with Uther had been strained, at best. When she’d come out at sixteen, all fiery eyes and teenage defiance — a defiance she’s never quite lost — he’d kicked her out without a second thought.

After a week of camping on her half-sister’s couch, Arthur had called her to say she could come home. Uther had opened the door, an apology sitting dormant on his tongue. He never was a man of apologies.

Arthur had welcomed her home with a cautious smile, fear bright but hidden in his fourteen-year-old eyes. Morgana had known from that moment that Arthur was gay too, though she didn’t dare say anything. When he’d come out to her, nervous and almost shy, at eighteen, she’d simply embraced him warmly and told him she loved him — she knew it was what he needed to hear after living with Uther for so long.

Morgana’s relationship with Uther had remained patchy until the day he died. Arthur had never told their father of his homosexuality, too afraid of the consequences to embrace the pride and freedom it gifted.

Secretly, Morgana would have loved to see the look on Uther’s face; both his children _ gay _. And Morgause too, if they were counting step-children. It sometimes makes Morgana cackle wildly, gleeful at the knowledge her father would have been _ horrified.)_

So yeah, Arthur’s sick of Morgana constantly firing assistants and hiring ones barely more competent. He has a brilliant assistant, though he rarely admits it. If Morgana could find herself another — though preferably female — Merlin, she’d be set for life.

It hasn’t escaped her notice that her dear brother and his assistant have grown rather close — some would say _ too close _for a purely platonic professional relationship; Arthur’s still somewhat touchy on the subject of his sexuality, so she doesn’t push.

She’s thankfully past the internalised homophobia stage, but it took a few years, so she gets it.

Anyway, the point is — she’s going to have to interview for a new assistant immediately. Arthur complains every time that it slows down the _ whole office_, which is a complete and utter lie. He says it’s because Morgana has to do everything herself for however many days, and although she swears she’s an independent woman, which she _ is_, she’s even better with an assistant by her side to help her organise herself.

Pulling her lip between her teeth, Morgana picks up her phone and dials Arthur’s office number. Merlin picks up, as usual; it makes Morgana smile, even though she knows it’s technically normal practice.

“Morgana, how can I help you? Is everything okay?” Merlin’s voice is soft and curious, as it always is. He’s a soothing presence in her life, one Morgana hopes never to lose. She’s gotten to know him quite well ever since he became Arthur’s assistant a year ago, and she’s glad for it.

“Nothing is _ wrong _ , exactly, but uh, I think Arthur may feel differently,” she begins, tone hesitant. She just wants a _ good _assistant, is that too much to ask for?

(It clearly is.)

“Morgana.” Merlin’s tone is reproachful; Morgana thinks he knows why she called. “You didn’t fire Elena, did you?”

Morgana lets her head thud back against the high-backed chair, and stifles the urge to whine about how incompetent Elena was. “Merlin, she was a disaster. You can’t blame me for letting her go. You know yourself how awful she was.”

“I don’t, I don’t,” Merlin appeases. “I guess you want me to break the news to Arthur, do you?”

“Oh if you could that’d be _ brilliant_.” Morgana grins in amusement — she knows Merlin would rather not have to confront Arthur about her — what he would call _ purposeful inconveniences _ — but he seems to posess some kind of magic that somehow keeps a lid on Arthur’s temper and manages to calm him down with a simple touch.

“Sure, Morgana, but just don’t blame me if — or when, should I say — he comes barging into your office,” he warns. The line goes dead a moment later, and Morgana begins counting down the minutes until Arthur comes in, undoubtedly yelling.

She posts a new job advertisement while she waits. It’s as she clicks _post _that her door swings open with no warning and Arthur bursts in, followed by Merlin, signature apologetic frown deepening between his brows as it does whenever Arthur’s doing something he might regret later.

“Morgana Pendragon, what were you _ thinking_?” He shouts, eyes a little wilder than the situation calls for.

“I had to Arthur, she was useless!” She retorts easily, never one to back down to her brother.

“Well you’re bloody useless without her, so riddle me that!”

Morgana feels the words hit her squarely in the chest, and years of hidden insecurities come shooting to the surface. She’s not quite past her anxiety and crippling depression, but Arthur doesn’t know that, so she supposes she can’t expect him to tread lightly with his insults.

But Merlin knows, and his face falls a fraction before hers does. He moves forward and yanks Arthur’s arm back, glaring sharply at him.

“Arthur, don’t,” he warns. Morgana ducks her head, desperately blinking away the tears threatening to fall. She doesn’t want him to see her being _ weak_, as Uther would have said.

Arthur turns to Merlin, confusion painted messily across his face, just in time to miss Morgana swiping away her falling tears. She steels her expression and sizes her lips in a thin line, eyes hard, walls up.

For once, Arthur seems to have gathered that he’s done something wrong, because guilt creeps across his face as Merlin tugs him gently from the room. The assistant looks back over his shoulder and mouths a pained _ sorry, _before disappearing over the threshold, fingers clasped around Arthur’s bicep. 

Morgana breathes a slow sigh of relief once her door clicks shut; she’s glad to be alone, glad to bask in the cautious silence of her office.

Silence isn’t usually her best friend — or her friend at all, actually — but she’s desperately grateful for the absence of voices.

It’s been a while since she’s reacted like that to anyone’s harsh words. The last time it happened, she’d sat in her bathroom that night and carved lines into her pale thighs and stomach, watching crimson stain down her skin as she sobbed into silence.

(Morgana senses the same will happen tonight.)

Pushing in her earphones, Morgana clicks on her emails, the bright _63 _ eliciting a resigned sigh from her lips. King Princess’ _ Prophet _begins to filter through the small speakers, and she clicks on the first, probably useless, email, humming along to the song with a flicker of a smile twitching at her lips.

* * *

Morgana wakes, as she’d expected, with throbbing thighs. She’d cut more than usual last night, allowing herself to indulge in the stinging pain it brought. It distracted her from everything else in her life, gave her some semblance of control amidst chaos.

She gets ready slowly, helpfully ‘forgetting’ to rub savlon on her cuts as Merlin had once told her to. What’s the point, anyway? She wants to feel the sick pleasure of her slacks rubbing against the raw skin.

Maybe she needs help.

* * *

When Morgana arrives at work, Merlin greets her with a bunch of flowers — lavender and eucalyptus, her favourites.

“They’re from Arthur. He’s in a meeting, so he asked me to pass them on. He says sorry, too.” Merlin has a childlike hope shining in his hazel eyes, and Morgana knows the flowers were undoubtedly his idea.

“Thank you, Merlin,” she says kindly, pulling a vase from a cupboard in her office.

Merlin looks vaguely surprised. “Don’t thank me, thank Arthur!”

He’s never been one to take credit where it’s due, content to live quietly, allowing others to get praise that should be his. Morgana doesn’t know how he does it — it’s admirable.

“Merlin, I know it was all you. Arthur may have paid, but he does not have the sense to apologise with such grace,” she says truthfully, arranging the flowers in the vase after filling it with water from the small sink in her office.

The assistant ducks his head shyly, and Morgana know’s she’s right. “You’re welcome,” he murmurs, somewhat embrassed at being recognised for his good deed. “I must—” He gestured to the door, and Morgana nods, smiling.

“Tell Arthur I say thank you,” she calls, winking as he turns back to grin at her.

Once Merlin’s gone, Morgana sits back in her chair, feeling infinitely better than she did when she awoke that morning. Merlin seems to have that effect on people though; no wonder Arthur’s in love with him.

(Not that he realises it yet, the dense fool.)

Morgana checks her emails, pleased to see five applications for her assistant advertisement staring back at her. She responds to them all and demands they come in immediately.

She really needs luck on her side right now. She has _ got _to find a half-decent assistant, and one she’s willing to put up with.

* * *

After the fourth interview, Morgana isn’t sure she can continue. They’re all _ useless _ . She keeps saying that, but it’s true. They all they’d be honoured to work for the company in exactly the same fake tone, and it pisses Morgana off to no end. They’re all dressed in faux expensive dress suits, with their faux smiles and faux voices and _ fuck _, Morgana just wants some authenticity — is that such a big ask?

She calls in the fifth woman, praying to any listening god that this woman is _ the one _. If she’s as incompetent as the other four, Morgana’s sure she’ll dissolve into a fit of rage.

A petite woman rushes in, dressed in a faded pair of black jeans and a soft pink blouse, her curly hair pinned back in a low bun. She looks drastically out of place in the tastefully-decorated pristine office, but Morgana doesn’t seem to mind.

The woman is _ beautiful _, for a start, which is always a bonus. She carries herself with a quiet confidence, though she seems intimidated by the regality of the building. Morgana doesn’t blame her; it’s quite a big mouthful all at once.

“Uh hi, my name is Guinevere Smith,” she says softly, daring to meet Morgana’s eye, albeit shyly. A rosy blush blooms across her cheeks and she ducks her head as Morgana beckons her forward and gestures to the chair set out in front of her desk.

“Hello, Guinevere, what a beautiful name,” Morgana compliments, unable to help herself. _ You’re beautiful _, she wants to blurt out, but she refrains and swallows the words from her tongue.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Guinevere says, clear surprised scrawled across her face. Her blush deepens as she opens her mouth to speak again. “Though um, I go by Gwen.”

“Of course.” Although Morgana’s barely even glanced at the young woman’s credentials, she’s in her right mind to hire her right now, on the spot. She’s infinitely better than the last four already. “And please, call me Morgana.”

A smile flickers at Gwen’s lips, and she nods in acknowledgment.

“So, Gwen, why are you here? Why do you want to work here?” Morgana’s half expecting a response like the other women, because they _ admire her work _ and _ want to be a publisher one day _ and _ love the building and company _ and it’s all so _ fake _.

But again, Gwen surprises her. “I need a job,” she says simply. “I’m drowning in bills and I can barely afford to look after my sick father. I just— we can't live off his pension anymore,” she says honestly, voice quivering. Morgana wonders if she might cry, but she doesn’t, even if her jaw aches from the strain of somehow biting back her tears.

“That was very honest of you, Gwen, thank you.” Morgana appreciates honesty, perhaps over everything else. It’s a stark change from the lies she gets told on a daily basis from everyone around her.

(_ Uther _, her mind screams. He told more lies when he was alive than anyone else in this office, all put together.)

“Thank you, Ma—Morgana.” Gwen sits apprehensively, awaiting Morgana’s next words.

“Brilliant, you’re hired.”

Gwen splutters with shock, brows creasing deeply as she tries to comprehend what just happened. “What? You’re hiring me, just like that? You haven’t even asked about my experience,” she says exasperatedly.

“Gwen, love, do you want this job or not?” Morgana jokes, chuckling. “I don’t need to see them, you seem perfectly competent to me. You start tomorrow.”

“But— I— _ Thank you _,” Gwen stresses, before rising from her chair. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Morgana replies easily, unable to wipe the slime from her face as she watches Gwen turn and leave with a spring in her step.

For the first time in a _ long time _, Morgana’s looking forward to tomorrow.


	2. chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! i’m back with another chapter. it took me a few sittings to write it and i’m not overly happy with it but... i hope you enjoy nonetheless. i got some lovely comments on the last chapter — thank you!! you guys are the ones that inspired me to continue this, though i’ve no idea where it’s going!
> 
> **tw for mentions and description of self harm, self-hate, body dysmorphia and eating disorder ish behaviour**

For the first time in a while, Morgana wakes up without fresh scars. In her excitement, she tells herself it’s because Gwen is starting work today, but in reality it was more the fact she passed out as soon as she stepped through her front door, and sleeping for a solid ten hours.

She only woke up once, which is an achievement, considering she usually wakes, drenched in sweat and tears, at least three times. (Perhaps it was the valerian tablet she took on her way home. Morgause suggested it, and if last night was anything to go by, it’s working.)

Padding quietly into her kitchen, Morgana flicks the kettle on and pushes herself onto the counter of the kitchen island as she waits. Once her tea — lavender and green — has steeped for long enough, the brunette goes back to her bedroom, forgoing breakfast. (She hasn’t eaten it for four years; she isn’t about to start.)

She forces herself into the shower, telling herself she must make a good impression for Gwen’s first day, and then proceeds to spend twenty minutes changing in and out of different dresses, the mirror spinning stories of fat that isn’t there. In the end, she settles for a plain black one with a fairly high neck — she has cuts on her chest, and today really isn’t a good day for anyone to find out about those. Scrunching her nose up in disgust at her reflection, she pulls on a large cardigan over the top. It’s not quite work-appropriate, but she doesn’t care.

Her half-drunk tea is now cold, so she empties the mug down the sink and leaves hastily, already five minutes late.

* * *

When she arrives at work at nine o’clock on the dot — she’d taken a few shortcuts on her way and had  _ maybe  _ broken the speed limit — Gwen is already there. She’s holding a cup of something in her hand, something Morgana presumes is for her.

“Good morning, Morgana. I asked Merlin what you liked to drink and stopped off to pick up a strawberry and peach tea for you.” Gwen holds it out in front of her, a rosy blush blooming across her cheeks as Morgana smiles widely.

“Oh Gwen, thank you, you didn’t have to.” Morgana takes a sip and the tension in her shoulders dissipates — she doesn’t know where Gwen got this tea but it’s  _ good _ .

“It’s no problem! Now, I took the liberty of checking your schedule, and you have a meeting at ten am with a Ms Annis O’Conner, followed by a meeting with Mr Cenred King at eleven thirty. Uh, and then it’s your lunch break until one thirty and then you have an appointment with Mr Lancelot Knight at two. And then that’s it.” Gwen recites the information easily from memory, smiling proudly when she’s finished.

“Thank you, Gwen. You’re already more competent than all my previous assistants put together,” Morgana compliments, sweeping into her office, allowing Gwen to follow her.

She sinks down into her chair, glad to be off her feet; her thighs are still sore, and her dress is rubbing against the raw cuts.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No thank you, I think that’s all for now. There should be a list of things I need you to do on your desk — please see to it that they’re done.” Morgana flips open her laptop and turns it on, gulping back a few mouthfuls of tea as she waits. Gwen turns and leaves with a nod, leaving her in silence.

* * *

Merlin comes in during Morgana’s lunch break, a sly smirk taking up residence as soon as he shuts the door. “So — you and Gwen,” he begins.

Morgana gasps. “ _ What _ ? Has— Has she said something?” There  _ is  _ no “her and Gwen”, no matter how much she already wishes there was. Gwen is… well, simply gorgeous. There are dozens of other, probably better, words to describe the beauty of her new assistant but Morgana finds herself unable to pull them to the forefront of her mind.

Merlin smirks knowingly, and looks up at her through his thick eyelashes. Morgana’s sure it’s a look he often gives Arthur — she can imagine how quickly her brother crumbles under Merlin’s soft gaze.

“No, she hasn’t said anything  _ yet _ .”

“Merlin!” Morgana hisses, voice hushed and urgent. “Gwen will suspect something in a minute and come rushing in and find out and—”

“Gana, it’s okay. I won’t say anything, I promise. But I saw the way you looked at her, and the way she looked at you. There’s something there. Don’t let it pass without at least trying,” he advises, ever the wise voice amidst chaos. His gentle voice is soothing; it has a calming effect on Morgana that instantly slows her heart rate and focuses her mind.

“I— Thank you, Merlin.” Morgana doesn’t really know what else to say, but she does know that Merlin’s words are not to be brushed under the carpet. When he parts with a golden nugget of wisdom, it’s usually (always) for a good reason.

Merlin nods in understanding, and ducks out of Morgana’s office without another word.

Heaving out a deep sigh, Morgana goes about preparing for her meeting with Lancelot, a very promising author with a fabulous autobiography. He’s almost a friend now, but the brunette really isn’t sure she’s in the mood to talk business and publishing. (Despite the fact she does it everyday and can talk about it for hours without really knowing what she’s saying.)

Her mind drifts to Gwen, the kind, sweet young woman who’s now her employee. Fate seems to have twisted in her favour, placing the perfect woman right in front of her. But getting that woman, for lack of better phrasing, is not an easy feat.

Morgana’s hyper aware of the fact she’s broken, carrying baggage heavier than herself. She could never be wanted or desired, not in her current state. She’s barely living, almost a ghost of who she used to be. It’s no secret that she’s lost weight, a little too much to be considered healthy. Her self harm relapses have been worryingly frequent and severe, her cuts carved into her skin like bloodied trenches.

However nice Gwen may be, it’s impossible that she would ever choose someone like  _ her _ . Morgana knows she would only damage the woman, hurt her and ruin her life. Gwen’s better off without her, she’s sure of it. That is, if Gwen happened to be interested in the first place — which she’s  _ not  _ — and is gay. (Highly unlikely.)

Biting back a weak whimper, Morgana grits her teeth and drags her attention back to a snippet Annis’ book, scanning it for errors.

It’s as she’s correcting a grammatical error that she hears a loud commotion from outside her office. Alarmed, Morgana rises immediately and stalks to her door, intent on shutting them up; she has work to do, and she’s  _ really  _ not in the mood. For what, she can’t quite pinpoint, but she definitely knows that any distractions are certainly not on the table.

Morgana flings her door open and steps outside, ready to yell at whoever has dared to speak with such volume in the supposedly calm reception to her office.

The sight she’s met with knocks the air out of her lungs; Gwen is backed against the wall, Cenred towering over her, a slimy hand at her throat. The younger woman looks terrified, her dark eyes wide with fright, whole body trembling from the threat of violence.

“You will step away from her immediately, you pig,” Morgana snarls, advancing towards Cenred. He whirls around at the noise and sneers cruelly.

“What are you gonna do about it, hm?” He jests, stepping teasingly towards Morgana, the lust for violence and confrontation sparking wildly in his eyes.

“I won’t publish your book.”

Cenred looks mildly phased, but not enough to stop. He glances over his shoulder, gaze sweeping appreciatively over Gwen’s slight frame. “Got a pretty one here, eh?”

Morgana can’t help but curl her lip at his suggestive tone. Just the sight of him sends chills down her spine, lights anger in the very out of her stomach. An anger that burns like fire through her veins.

“Don’t take another step, Cenred. Don’t you  _ dare _ .” Morgana’s voice is low and threatening, fury dancing in her eyes, a raging bonfire.

Cenred grins at the challenge, and moves towards Morgana instead, lust clouding his vision. The first swing he takes at the brunette is poor; it misses her by a mile. Morgana consequently realises he’s  _ drunk _ .

That doesn’t excuse his behaviour though, so without a second thought, Morgana kicks up her right leg between Cenred’s legs, shin smacking into his dick. He doubles over immediately, crumpling from the force and shock of the action.

Morgana stands back triumphantly, suddenly glad she took those women’s self defence classes last year. With Cenred on the ground, whining about his “broken penis”, Morgana rushes to Gwen, expression openly apologetic.

“Gwen, gosh, I’m so sorry,” she begins, unable to fathom why Cenred would threaten her. (And why the hell was he back here?)

“No, Morgana, it’s okay. You really took him out, huh? I’m impressed,” Gwen compliments, a soft blush dusting her cheeks as she ducks her head, embarrassed.

The smile that spreads across Morgana’s face is wide and blinding, so lifted by Gwen’s words that she temporarily forgets her vow not to get too close to the woman, lest she fall in love and inevitably be left with a broken heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you thought. comments and kudos are _much_ appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know y’all thought, please! shall i continue?


End file.
